A better tomorrow.

Isn't it a strange feeling to stand in the middle of a desert and hear distant voices calling you? Voices which are recognizable, voices which you want to reach for, voices which mean something to you! I don't have the mot juste for it, but it surely is a very strange feeling, unable to reach the voice. It haunts you beyond your imagination. It gives you a cramp in your stomach and paralyzes you to an unfathomable degree. It makes you cry. Tears that flow, that freezes and then flows again finding a new reason every time to cut loose from your eyes!

But then... A hope! A promise! Of what? That you can reach the stars if you jump high enough! That you need to eat the red-apple-of-infinite-wisdom to become immortal! That you can reach that beautiful place at the end of this world which is devoid of worries, pain, hatred, unjust, envy, misunderstandings, by just closing your eyes and thinking of Angels in blue and white attire! That you can live your entire life in Cockaigne, free from disharmony!
False! These are false hopes, without even being very practical.

A sudden realization dawns on you that you can't reach the voice, you press your ears hard with your trembling hands and try to throw away the clamorous surroundings from your wretched state-of-mind. You show a renascent attitude, shining with a new belief. You stop running and smile at the foolish thought of swimming in 'uncertain' -blue-mirage-oceans- ! The realization is not a manna-from-heaven for you. It is not a life-support-system provided to you during your ill-health. The realization is just your chance to live your life more purposefully, it is but a divine afflatus to carry you into the new sunlight of a much better tomorrow. The quicker you make it, the faster you reach utopia, err...no...lead a beautiful and most importantly a normal life! Come on, life is never perfect for anybody! :)

A note on the foot: This Blog is dedicated to somebody!

Failing Rhyme.

Wasted Chairs.
Fading Orange cherries.
A dead mind.
Haunted Blackberries.

A step closer to hope.
A step away from loss.
A black and white vision.
Away from all the gloss.

A little hint, a falling leaf.
A shelter. A failing rhyme.
Tired dogs of war.
Somewhere, lost in time.

A long note. A deserting smile.
Below the Canopy. A liar.
A baffled existence
A candle. A burning desire.

A scotch. A drunk throat.
Shaky. Changed by a whip.
An outcry. A lost battle.
Outright Failure. Losing a grip.

The son rises.
Surging ahead.
Some kind of glory.
It’s all in de head.

What is left behind?
Another heart-beat, another time.
The new is heavenly, as it seems.
An attractive shelter, yet a failing rhyme.

..chasing rabbits...

You walk on the road, look around and feel a metaphorical twinge of weirdness. You want to take out the sword and wield it against the monsters and monster-in-laws, but you realize that this is no fantasy and you are right in the middle of bright-sunshine-kicking-you-in-the-back-side reality! You keep away your sword that you never had. You walk a little further, cross the allegorical bridge of human affability and find yourself right in the middle of the malevolent rat-race. If you are a smart-ass, you’ll smile and return back every shot fired at you, with an incredible ease. If you are not, Satan will take over all your responsibilities. HE will pick you up by your collar; hang you in the air placing a river below, crammed with blood-thirsty crocodiles and asking you to give an honest attempt at flying, slowly and wickedly leaving your collar. Since you weren’t a smart-ass, you fall down into the river. The crocodiles don’t eat you; they smile and return back to holier waters waiting for a braver and a worthier prey. You feel like a smart-ass indeed and yell out words of bravery and wisdom. A minute later you realize that you can’t swim and thereby drown into the metaphorical depth of competitive pressure. You were not a smart-ass actually.

A friend (involuntarily named ‘A Slap’) of yours accompanies you in your times of great difficulty. ‘A Slap’ is polite to you, respecting every decision of yours, applauding every move of yours, and criticizing every incorrect step you take. But, there is a blemish in this friend of yours, you realize! It is like a robot, it doesn’t have emotions; it doesn’t guide you the way you want it to! But, honestly, you don’t know ‘that’ way either. You shout at it, clearly voicing out your viewpoint towards it. A Slap revolts, throws you into the midst of a metaphorical oven of excruciating pain and suffering. You try to get up and get away from it; you can’t find your way out! You are weak. This is closely observed and enjoyed by ‘A Slap’ as it leaves you to die in your wretchedness.

What? Lost? Bemused? Goaded?
Looking for a key? Why do you think I’ll make life so easy for you?

Please leave me alone…..

Ohh..

….And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call
Recall Alice
When she was just small

When men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving low
Go ask Alice
I think she'll know!


Any Joy?